


The Wolves Will Come Again

by lady_and_lemoncakes



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 31 Days of Jonsa, F/M, Snowball Fight, super fluffy, the fluffiest of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 11:51:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13950987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_and_lemoncakes/pseuds/lady_and_lemoncakes
Summary: For 31 Days of Jonsa - March 11 - Snowball Fight. Late, but THAT’S ME.





	The Wolves Will Come Again

**Author's Note:**

> I had a very long week, and this happened. It made my heart happy.

The light of dawn was beginning to shine through the window of his study, billowing over his desk and Longclaw, resting against the wall. Jon had been at work for hours already. Answering letters, jotting down ideas, contemplating issues that need addressing. Kingly responsibilities.

  
Most mornings he preferred to stay in his warm bed a little longer, but spring had been short, and summer even shorter. The autumn snows had started, and winter would not be far behind. There was work to be done.

  
He scratches a note on a piece of parchment, and Ghost stirs at his feet. The direwolf stands, and rests his head on Jon’s lap. Laughter in the courtyard has made him restless. He stares up at Jon, wagging his tail. It is laughter they both recognize.

  
“I think we’ve earned a break.” Jon nods, petting Ghost’s head. Ghost spins from excitement, and is jumping at the door within seconds. Jon ties Longclaw around his waist. “Give me a minute.”

  
Ghost responds with an impatient huff, and returns to jumping at the door.

  
“With me.” Jon reminds him to stick to his side before opening the door. He’d rather Ghost not knock over an unsuspecting resident of Winterfell on their way out to the courtyard.

  
Ghost is on his best behavior until they reach the archway threshold of the courtyard. He leaps into snow, sprinting toward the children chasing each other around the courtyard. Jon and Sansa’s eldest child spots Ghost, and stops playing to search the courtyard.

  
“Papa!” It still overfills Jon’s heart with joy whenever he hears his babies call him that. There was a time when he thought he’d never be a father.

  
It was Arya who put the idea of being called Papa in his head when they told her she was going to be an aunt.

  
_That baby is going to love their Momma and Papa_ , she proclaimed.

  
Their Momma and Papa love them more they’ll ever know.

  
His small daughter runs over to him, snow sticking to her copper hair and cloak. He lifts her up, and kisses her freckled cheek. They named her Mya after Sansa’s dear friend from her time in the Vale, but the only similarity between the two are their blue eyes. Mya Stark is the spitting image of her mother and grandmother. “Good morning. Did you have nice dreams?”

  
“I did.” She shares while he carries her over to where Sansa is sitting with most of the younger children. Robb, their oldest boy, is busy throwing snowballs at Ghost since his sister has retreated from their fight. They named him perfectly. He very much resembles his namesake. “I dreamt it snowed, and it did!”

  
This is the first time any of their brood has seen a real snow. Mya rejoins the battle with Robb, and Ghost gives her face a quick lick. Jon smiles at Sansa playing in the snow with their three youngest. Brienne and Edd are twins who just celebrated their second name day. They favor Jon in their looks. The toddlers giggle, and throw snow into the air. Sansa craddles the youngest babe on her lap. Only a few moons old, Sam happily imitates the silly faces Sansa is making at him. Some days, Jon thinks he looks like Edd, and other days, he swears the boy looks just like Bran when he was a babe.

  
“Ghost stole my mitten!” Robb cries, running over to them. “Momma, Papa, make him give it back!”

  
“Ghost, to me.” Jon attempts, and Ghost indignantly runs out of the yard, mitten between his teeth.

  
“That’s odd.” Sansa comments, lifting Sam closer to her so she can stand.

  
“He’s been acting strange all morning.” Jon realizes, while his four-year-old continues to mourn the loss of his mitten.

  
“It’s my favorite mitten.” Robb sniffs, and Mya comforts him. He is more than a year younger, but almost as tall.

  
“Fourtunate that you have another just like it, then.” Jon jokes, tapping the mitten remaining on Robb’s other hand. His son glares at him with wet eyes. Sansa glares at him. Everyone glares at him, even the babe. Jon musses Robb’s curls, and promises. “We’ll get it back.”

  
“I need two.” Robb nods, and wipes his cheeks.

  
“I’ll go with you.” Mya decides, already walking in the direction Ghost took off in.

  
“Me too!” Robb is adamant, taking his lead from Mya.

  
“Mya, Robb, wait.” Jon calls after them, while Sansa keeps an eye on Edd and Brienne.

  
“You’re always telling us not to go off alone.” Mya reminds him, and Jon cannot argue.

  
“We should be able to follow his tracks.” Jon concedes. “Doubtless he’s gone far.”

  
The snow gets deeper the further into the woods they follow Ghost. It becomes too deep for the children to walk in. Jon has to carry them.

  
They find Ghost at the foot of a weirwood tree, Robb’s mitten safely beside him. Mya pulls at Jon’s cloak when she sees what Ghost is sniffing.

  
Nestled in the roots and snow, are six pups. One look, and Jon knows they are direwolves.

  
“Papa!” Mya squeels, rushing to the pups. “They’re so tiny!”

  
“Are they direwolves?” Robb asks, picking up a pup as dark as night.

  
“Yes.” Jon answers, absentmindedly petting Ghost. “Be careful. Where there are pups, there are usually a Momma and Papa. They can be protective.”

  
“We have Ghost.” Mya snuggles a lighter pup. “He’ll protect us. Right, Ghostie?”

  
“Don’t let Ghost, Nymeria, and Shaggy fool you.” Jon warns. “Direwolves are dangerous.”

  
“Are you sure, Papa?” Robb giggles, while the pup in his arms wiggles.

  
“I’m sure.” Jon sighs, eyeing the other pups. They’re hungry, and there is no sign of parents anywhere. Like the last pups found in the snow, they’re alone.

  
“I want my own direwolf.” Robb smiles at the pup he is still holding. “I could name him Shaddow.”

  
“Do **not** name them.” Jon shakes his head, uncertain of how to proceed. It was too late. Robb and Mya were already attached.

  
“Papa, please.” Mya begs, gently petting the direwolf she has chosen. It was hopeless. The gods had sent them direwolves again. Who was he to deny the gods? “There’s one for Momma.”

  
That settled it, for certain. Sansa still misses Lady with all of her soul. So, with Ghost’s help, Jon carries them all to Winterfell.

  
“Gods be good.” Sansa gasps when she sees the pups. “Is that what had Ghost all worked up?”

  
“There’s one for you.” He tells her, bringing tears to her eyes.

  
There would be time later to worry about six direwolf pups running around, needing to be trained. Right now, he was just happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Because Sansa deserves a direwolf pup, and I’d really like for their children to have them too. Also, I’m terrible at titles.


End file.
